I made it home after work, my neck aching, and my phone quiet. Dakota hadn’t even messaged. We sometimes texted, more often than not recently because we were trying this whole friend thing. But I figured I’d scared her away a bit today. Now I would have to figure out what to do about it.
Someone slammed a car door as I got out and headed into my house. I froze, my body breaking out in a cold sweat.
I fisted my hands at my sides, took two deep breaths, and made my way into the house, practically falling to my feet. I pulled out my phone and found my therapist’s number.
“Macon. How can I help?”
“I need to talk.”
“I’m here. I’m listening.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, bile filling my mouth.
Then I spoke, just to find my words. To find a way to breathe and make it through this. Maybe Dakota was right, and this wouldn’t work. Perhaps I would hurt them in the end. I wasn’t together enough to figure out my shit. I didn’t need to involve anyone else.
The idea that I might walk away hurt. Only, I might need to.
Dakota had her own problems to worry about, and I didn’t want to make it worse.
As I looked down at my fisted hands, at the pallor of my skin, I knew I might be dangerous to her life.
Even if neither of us planned on it.
Chapter 9
Dakota
“I am craving a white mocha with strawberry drizzle,” Pop said from my side as she put her hands on the small of her back and stretched.
My stomach rumbled, and I grinned. “You know, I don’t work with strawberry in coffee often. It doesn’t always work out.”
“You’re right, but I think it could if we make it sweet enough.”
“Just like a raspberry white chocolate mocha?” I asked, my mouth watering.
Pop moaned. “Oh good, now I want that, too.”
“I guess if we add enough sugar, we don’t need to worry about the taste of the coffee?” I asked dryly, and Pop just snorted.
“Oh, yeah, I could see you not caring about the taste of the coffee. That’s so you.”
“You’ve caught me. I think we can make something special, but we’re not going to sell that treat in the large size.”
“The amount of sugar that’ll be in a drink like that? Not very responsible,” Pop said.
“We can always pair it with the strawberry tarts. I’ve been in the mood to play with more pastry.”
“I love this place.”
I paused and looked over at Pop. “I know you do. But thanks for saying it.”
“No, really,” Pop said again. “You never let anything get stale. And not just the food,” she added with a laugh, and I rolled my eyes. “You always have a plan in mind, and you try out new things. Plus, you work with the seasons. You love this place, and it shows.”
“You just made my day. Thank you, honey.”
“Thank me? I think I should be the one thanking you. I get to work for a boss that’s not an asshole, that lets me work on my own time, and allows me to create. I’m not stuck to a corporate menu.”
We both shuddered at the thought but grinned.
“Anyway, how was your night? Have you found someone to replace Nancy and Constance?”
I closed my eyes and groaned. Jason was up front, taking care of any after-lunch-crowd customers. But Pop and I were in the back, getting ready for the next surge of people and whatever we could get done early for the next day.
“No,” I said, sighing. “It’s getting ridiculous at this point. Everyone that I can trust just can’t fit me in. And the process for finding someone new or working with an agency just isn’t going to work.”
“But Myra is helping, right?”
I nodded, guilt filling me at the thought.
“She is. She’s been a lifesaver. Everybody has.”
“Do not feel guilty about that,” Pop snarled.
“How do you know I feel guilty?” I asked, my voice going a little high-pitched.
“I know you,” Pop replied. “You feel guilty over the fact that you need to rely on your friends. Those that offer to help you time after time. People who love you, which you never want to lean on. And now you’re forced into it, and you feel that.”
“I don’t like that you can read me so well,” I said wryly.
“You don’t need to like it. All that matters is that I know all.”
That made me laugh. “Whatever you say, Pop.”
“Well, I am brilliant, so you should listen to what I say.”
“And what are you saying?” I asked, sighing.
“That it’s okay to rely on others. It’s all right to need them just as they do you. Your friends love you. I love you. And I know Jason does, too.”
“Pop,” I said, my eyes stinging.
“No. There’s no crying in baking. Or baseball. Though I think both of those are lies. Regardless, we’re just going to pretend.”
“Pop,” I repeated.
“No, no crying with me. I’m just saying that you are a wonderful boss, a great friend, and you would do anything to help those you care about. So, let them do the same for you.”
“My friends have jobs. They have lives. And I need to find a daycare or something so I can continue to work, to provide. I just—I don’t think I can do it all.”
“And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?” Pop asked softly.
“Maybe. I hate this. I hate that Constance is sick, and even when she gets back up to full strength, I still don’t have Nancy’s replacement.”
“You need both. We need to find you something else. But until then, Myra works from home most days. Which means, she can handle a lot of it.”
“Have the girls been talking to you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Perhaps.”
“And did they ask you to talk to me?”
“Maybe.”
“Pop.”
“What? We care about you. We hate that you’re stressed out. And I’ll have
